“One we're knowing all too well,” Catti-brie replied with a smile.
“But it would be impolite not to hear it again,” said Drizzt, rising. He took Catti-brie's hand and pulled her up, and the two started past Meralda.
“So do ye think ye’ll find him?” the Lady of Auckney asked as they walked by.
The pair stopped and turned as one to regard her.
“The other one of yer group,” Meralda explained. “The one who went to reclaim Mithral Hall with ye, by the dwarf's own words.” She paused and stared hard at both of them. “The one ye call Wulfgar.”
Drizzt and Catti-brie stood silent for a moment, the woman so obviously on the edge of her nerves here, biting her lip and looking to the drow for a cue.
“It is our hope to find him, and find him whole,” Drizzt answered quietly, trying not to involve the whole room in this conversation.
“I've an interest. .”
“We know all about it,” Catti-brie interjected.
Lady Meralda stood very straight, obviously fighting to keep herself from swaying.
“The child grows strong and safe,” Drizzt assured her.
“And what did they name her?”
“Colson.”
“Meralda sighed and steadied herself. A sadness showed in her green eyes, but she managed a smile a moment later. “Come,” she said quietly. “Let us go and hear the dwarf’s tale.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“The prisoner will be hung as soon as we find a rope strong enough to hold it,” Lord Feringal assured the group early the next morning, when they had gathered at the foyer of Castle Auckney, preparing to leave.
“The beast fancies itself a strong one,” the man went on with a snicker. “But how it whimpered last night!”
Drizzt winced, as did Catti-brie and Regis, but Bruenor merely nodded.
“The brute was indeed part of a larger band,” Feringal explained “Perhaps pirates, though the stupid creature didn't seem to understand the word.”
“Perhaps Kree,” the drow said. “Do you have any idea where the raiding band came from?”
“South coast of the mountain spur,” Feringal answered. “We could not get the ogre to admit it openly, but we believe it knows something of Minster Gorge. It will be a difficult hike in winter, with the passes likely full of snow.”
“Difficult, but one worth taking,” Drizzt replied.
Lady Meralda entered the room then, seeming no less beautiful in the early morning light than she had the night before. She regarded Drizzt and Catti-brie each in turn, offering a grateful smile.
And both the woman and the drow noted, too, that Feringal couldn't hide his scowl at the silent exchange. The wounds here were still too raw, and Feringal had obviously recognized Wulfgar's name from Bruenor's tale the night before, and that recognition had pained him greatly.
No doubt, the frustrated Lord of Auckney had taken that anger out on the half-ogre prisoner.
The four friends left Castle Auckney and the kingdom that same morning, though clouds had gathered in the east. There was no fanfare, no cheers for the departing heroes.
Just Lady Meralda, standing atop the parapet between the gate towers, wrapped in a heavy fur coat, watching them go.
Even from that distance, Drizzt and Catti-brie could see the mixture of pain and hope in her green eyes.
Part 4 THE HUNT FOR MEANING
The weather was terrible, the cold biting at my fingers, the ice crusting my eyes until it pained me to see. Every pass was fraught with danger—an avalanche waiting to happen, a monster ready to spring. Every night was spent in the knowledge that we might get buried within whatever shelter we found (if we were even lucky enough to find shelter), unable to claw our way out, certain to die.
Not only was I in mortal danger, but so were my dearest friends.
Never in my life have I been more filled with joy.
For a purpose guided our steps, every one through the deep and driving snow. Our goal was clear, our course correct. In traversing the snowy mountains in pursuit of the pirate Kree and the warhammer Aegis-fang, we were standing for what we believed in, were following our hearts and our spirits.
Though many would seek short cuts to the truth, there is no way around the simplest of tenets: hardship begets achievement and achievement begets joy—true joy, and the sense of accomplishment that defines who we are as thinking beings. Often have I heard people lament that if only they had the wealth of the king, then they could be truly happy, and I take care not to argue the point, though I know they are surely wrong. There is a truth I will grant that, for the poorest, some measure of wealth can allow for some measure of happiness, but beyond filling the basic needs, the path to joy is not paved in gold, particularly in gold unearned.
Hardly that! The path to joy is paved in a sense of confidence and self-worth, a feeling that we have made the world a little bit better, perhaps, or that we fought on for our beliefs despite adversity. In my travels with Captain Deudermont, I dined with many of the wealthiest families of Waterdeep. I broke bread with many of the children of the very rich. Deudermont himself was among that group, his father being a prominent landowner in Waterdeep's southern district. Many of the current crop of young aristocrats would do well to hold Captain Deudermont up as an example, for he was unwilling to rest on the laurels of the previous generation. He spotted, very young, the entrapment of wealth without earning. And so the good captain decided at a young age the course of his own life, an existence following his heart and trying very hard to make the waters of the Sword Coast a better place for decent and honest sailors.
Captain Deudermont might die young because of that choice to serve, as I might because of my own, as Catti-brie might beside me. But the simple truth of it is that, had I remained in Menzoberranzan those decades ago, or had I chosen to remain safe and sound in Ten-Towns or Mithral Hall at this time, I would already, in so many ways, be dead.
No, give me the road and the dangers, give me the hope that I am striding purposefully for that which is right, give me the sense of accomplishment, and I will know joy.
So deep has my conviction become that I can say with confidence that even if Catti-brie were to die on the road beside me, / would not backtrack to that safer place. For I know that her heart is much as my own on this matter. I know that she will—that she must—pursue those endeavors, however dangerous, that point her in the direction of her heart and her conscience.
Perhaps that is the result of being raised by dwarves, for no race on all of Toril better understands this simple truth of happiness better than the growling, grumbling, bearded folk. Dwarf kings are almost always among the most active of the clan, the first to fight and the first to work. The first to envision a mighty underground fortress and the first to clear away the clay that blocks the cavern in which it will stand. The tough, hard-working dwarves long ago learned the value of accomplishment versus luxury, long ago came to understand that there are riches of spirit more valuable by far than gold—though they do love their gold!
So I find myself in the cold, windblown snow, and the treacherous passes surrounded by enemies, on our way to do battle with an undeniably formidable foe.
Could the sun shine any brighter?
– Drizzt Do'Urden
Chapter 20 EVICTION NOTICE
The people of Faerыn's northern cities thought they understood the nature of snowstorms and the ferocity of winter but in reality, no person who hadn't walked the tundra of Icewind Dale or the passes of the Spine of the World during a winter blizzard could truly appreciate the raw power of nature unleashed.
Such a storm found the four friends as they traversed one high pass southeast of Auckney.